All Strings Attached

Chapter Six

Sita

"Are you sure you don't like Dhushyanth?" Meera questions, making me frown and shake my head, vehemently opposed to the idea.

I sip my brownie blended milkshake, hoping the cold beverage will ease my nerves, but nothing helps. "I don't like Dhushyanth," I declare.

"I don't know, Sita," she says, "two and a half years? It seems like quite a long time to have a fling with someone."

"There's nothing there, though," I argue, "we never text or talk outside of these occurrences, and we're almost always drunk when they happen."

"Why do you have to get drunk to be with a man you like, Sita?" She questions, eating a spoonful of her brownie.

"I don't—"

"You don't have to explain to me," Meera says, "but you told me when you were eighteen and peed yourself on your boyfriend's bed, I don't see how hooking up with a handsome man like Dhushyanth is the bigger embarrassment—"

"It's cause I don't like politicians, Meera—"

"No, you don't like that there are some politicians that put their political aspirations over everything else in life," Meera corrects, shaking her head. "You don't know that Dhuhsyanth is that person."

"I don't like politicians," I insist.

"If you ask me," Meera continues, ignoring me, "I think Dhushyanth's so much better than that. He was more concerned about you than his political career."

I run a hand through my hair. "You don't know that."

"Do you know otherwise?" She questions.

"Being with a politician will mean that I'm constantly in the limelight," I tell her, ranting about everything in my head. "I don't want that. I get enough flak being my father's daughter. I'd much rather marry someone abroad and move away. I'm not interested in the flash and pomp and false promises—"

"I will support you in doing whatever is best for you, Sita," Meera assures me, "I will always have your back. I will always love you, even when you hide something from me for almost three years. But I will only support you when you're honest with yourself, Sita.

"You're projecting something onto Dhushyanth, he's not responsible for whatever preconceived notions about politicians you have. You didn't dislike hime because of something he did or said, you went in wanting to hate him. You should think about this, and be honest with yourself."

I hold my head, chuckling hopelessly at this situation. How did I let this get out of hand? We managed to keep it entirely under the wraps for two years, and now— the one time we slipped up we got caught. Should have remembered why we had all of these rules in the first place.

Maybe I should stop drinking. No more drunken making out and hooking up with Dhushyanth. Or anyone else.

That evening, I drop Meera to her place, promising to visit her and Veer in Delhi and go back home, dreading what would come up.

As we pull up to the front gate, my phone rings with a call from Dhushyanth. "Hello?" I answer, trying to cover my face with my hair as multiple flashes go off in my face at once. The driver raises the meshed window, and I relax, if only slightly.

"Hi, Sita. Are you home?" He questions.

"I've just gotten home," I answer. "Is there an issue?"

"I talked to my dad about the issue, he spoke to Vishwanath—" I hear Dhushyanth take a deep breath, and my heart dips into my stomach, making me feel nauseous with anxiety— "he acted as though he didn't have any pictures."